Part-time Heroes
by Sesto
Summary: Another number was called, and then another. Each one signified a moment passed; a person chosen, and for the others who still waited, an increment towards the inevitable. In the end, those chosen would do their duty, just as they always had: as symbols, as weapons, and as heroes. As Heroic Spirits. One-shot.


**Part-time Heroes**

"Six thousand, five hundred and sixty-five, please come to the front desk," a voice called from every direction. "Six thousand, five hundred and sixty-five."

Another number was called, and then another. They served as the only measure of time in this isolated space, for no clocks hung on its sterile walls. Each number signified a moment passed; a person chosen, and for the others who still waited, an increment towards the inevitable.

Save for these steady interruptions, the crowded lobby was still in a state of stillness, no less tranquil than the softest of seashores. After all, the ones here did not have much to talk about. They had all been through this before, and would all go through it again. They would do their duty, just as they always had: as symbols, as weapons, and as heroes. As Heroic Spirits.

The voice called again, and one of such heroes looked down at the number in his hand - seven thousand, seven hundred and forty-two - and yawned. A few seats down from where he was sitting, a dark-suited man rose from his chair, holding onto his brimmed hat with a smirk like a madman who had found his true calling. The hero scratched his beard. At least someone was excited about this, he thought.

With every number, more empty seats formed around him, only to to be filled moments later with new occupants. One of such newcomers was a young woman who took a seat to his right, a silver veil flowing from her head. He noticed she held the number twelve thousand and fifty-two.

He glanced at his own number again, and had an idea. Would this be against the rules? He wasn't entirely sure. "Psst," he whispered to the girl, showing her his number. "Want to trade?"

She was not too impressed by his question. Her face was akin to that of a statue, sculpted to fit a single type of expression. It was hard to even imagine such a face ever smiling. He couldn't help but think that a little sad.

Realizing she wasn't going to answer, he chuckled softly. "You can't blame an old man for trying, right?"

She continued her blank stare. It was almost as if she was completely incapable of understanding what he was saying.

Maybe that was only natural. Some here would probably think his behaviour cowardly or unfitting for a hero, but he was used to that by now. Besides, it wasn't as if he was _afraid_ of being called. Ask him to hold down a fort? He could do that. But these expeditions? They just didn't suit him. They'd have a better time asking someone more youthful and full of vigor. He's sure _that_ kid probably loved these things.

"Seven thousand, seven hundred and forty-two, please come to the front desk. Seven thousand, seven hundred and forty-two."

But, in the end, a job's a job.

He waved his neighbour goodbye, for what little that mattered, and headed to the front. While there were multiple different stations before him, he saw the empty one, and went straight for it.

To his surprise, behind the desk was a small girl, barely appearing old enough to hold a job like a receptionist. She wore a faintly coloured suit, and her light hair was bundled up in a long ponytail. "Uhm, please wait a few moments," she said, scrambling with some papers on her desk, "I'm still processing your assignment."

"It's fine, take it easy. I'm in no rush." He had thought his words would be reassuring, but he still saw faint tears building up in her eyes. It made him feel a little bad; even he could tell the suit she wore was painfully unsuited for her. She seemed more the type to sit on the sidelines offering moral support, not being forced to work away like a slave. But damn if she wasn't trying her best anyway.

He had once heard that those who ended up getting stuck with the desk jobs were the less popular ones: local legends, uncommon aspects of certain heroes, and the like. He didn't exactly pity them; a nice cushy desk job didn't sound half bad right about now. Unfortunately, he was all out of luck. Having a unforgettable legacy like his really wasn't all it was chalked up to be.

As if fate itself was mocking his inner musings, his eye caught a youthful man a few stations down from him, his bright hair sticking out like a sore thumb. The youth also noticed him in the same moment, and the two of them locked eyes. Both of their expressions soured instantaneously.

A noise escaped his lips. "Geh."

"Is something the matter, mister?"

He turned back to the receptionist, who had apparently finished what she was doing. "I just saw an old acquaintance, that's all." He tried to hide his grimace. "Everything's fine."

She smiled. "Great! You should be good to go now. The details are on these, but if you have any questions, please feel free to ask."

She handed him some papers, and he took a few moments to check over them quietly. Apparently he was to be in a Holy Grail War. A quick glance at the participants had him sighing in relief: the kid wasn't there. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"If you go down the hall to your left, it should be the eighth door on the right. I believe a few of the participants should already be there."

"Thanks little lady," he said, nodding his head, then left in that direction. When he was out of sight, he casually tossed the  
papers in a nearby bin.

A Holy Grail War, eh. It wasn't too surprising he ended up being assigned to one; most of the people here would probably find themselves in a similar situation. Everyone fought in one eventually. Or maybe _had_ fought in one would be a better way to describe it.

That was the funny thing about this place: it was hard to keep track of the time. He bet some kept dutiful track of everything they did, and then there were those special ones who didn't even need to do that. But for most of them, it was simply impossible to remember each and every detail. He wasn't even sure how many times he had gone through these motions; in this case, it was entirely possible he was just repeating something he had done once before.

Come to think of it, hadn't he been summoned for one of these Grail Wars already? A few hazy memories floated in his mind: a self-proclaimed king ordering everyone around with a scowl on his face, a ship full of colourful individuals, a young princess that looked very, very familiar…

He reached the eighth door. Oh, well, he shrugged. Maybe this one would go a little bit better.

When he opened the door, he was greeted with a nostalgic combination of senses: the sound of calm waves hitting a shore; the crisp smell of seawater; the sticky air of a hot humid day. The sun - yup, that was the sun up there - blinded his vision as he stepped further into the room, but as it returned, he saw that he was now on a secluded little coastline.

A bunch of benches were clumped about, almost like an afterthought, not unlike the waiting room from earlier. Two of these spots were currently occupied: one by a dark-skinned man with a mask resembling a skull, the other by a silver-haired knight, his chest glowing with a strange scar.

He waved at the two of them. "Yo."

The knight greeted him with a polite nod of the head, but the masked man seemingly made no notice of him at all. Well, that was alright. They weren't the most talkative bunch, but it was probably better that way.

He was going to take a seat across from the knight, but before he could do so, a voice called out.

"Do you feel it?"

At first he looked to his two new acquaintances thinking they had a change of heart, but it was obvious that the voice had come from neither of the two. It was then that he noticed there was actually a third member to this party. Standing on the water's edge, staring on into the horizon, was a burly man. A grand red cape hung across his shoulders.

"Do you feel it in the air?" the man asked again, his voice carrying as much as the one in the waiting room. "The anticipation of meeting a new obstacle head-on. Anticipation so thick you can breathe it into your lungs and through to your bloodstream, transforming it into the all too familiar adrenaline that accelerates us towards the end."

He glanced at the other two, as if to say, "is he talking to you?"

"Do you feel it, legendary defender of Troy?"

He frowned.

The caped man broke away from the horizon. A toothy smile larger than any he had ever seen was plastered on the man's face. "Are you that worried to have me as your opponent?"

"Worried? Nah." He was definitely feeling something, though. Mostly confusion. Now that he could see the man's face, he knew he had never seen him before. Clearly, though, the man seemed to know him. Thinking back to the names that were on the sheet from earlier, there was only really one who'd care who he was. "...Alexandar, I'm guessing?"

"It took you long enough," the man laughed. By now, the distance between them was only a few feet, and he was beginning to realize just how large the man was. "Though for now, perhaps you should be calling me 'Rider'."

"In that case, the name's Lancer. Nice to meet ya."

"And an honor it is! I have waited for a day like this to come ever since I took up the sword. To reenact the glorious battle at the gates of Troy would a dream fulfilled; let our coming battle be one of legend, a tale so grand that even Homer would be envious to tell it!"

He grinned, thinking the guy before him reminded him of the kid, at least a little bit. The biggest difference was that Rider seemed a lot more bearable. "Can't promise anything, but I'll try not to disappoint."

Despite his air of casualness, he couldn't deny his blood was running a bit faster. Was this what Rider was talking about? Jeez, what was he getting so worked up about. He was far too old for this.

"Eh? Are you guys starting the fun without me?" The door had been opened, and with it came another participant. This time it was a young fellow, lightly-haired and slim, dressed in the garb of a shepherd.

Rider went to greet him, as loud as ever. As it appeared, the young shepherd was also a king, and the two of them talked and talked, as kings usually do. Lancer took this opportunity to slink away and get some rest before everyone else got here.

The next few minutes felt vaguely repetitive, with Rider greeting each new entrant as they came in. His enthusiasm for this certainly made up for the lack-thereof in the rest of them, though the shepherd-king - who turned out to be Archer - chimed in from time to time with comments of his own.

The next one to show up was Caster, an attractive woman with long black hair and a matching dress. Archer had been pleased by her appearance, and apparently believed her to be one of his old wives. Somehow, Lancer doubted that to be true. Caster's reactions to Archer's initial welcomings had given even him a shiver up his spine, for it was like her words were laced with a deadly poison. She was a scary one, certainly.

Finally, the last one to appear was a gigantic beast of a man with large bull horns, who made even Rider look small in comparison. It wasn't hard to guess that he was Berserker. With Archer distracted by Caster, Rider greeted him in full, making some remarks about a labyrinth. Berserker wasn't much of a talker, though, and he eventually escaped to sit off by himself.

Evidently, Assassin and Saber were already here, so with that, everyone had shown up.

The banter between the boisterous of the bunch continued for a while, with Lancer trying to drone it out. His eyelids were getting heavier and heavier as he slouched in his seat, secretly wishing he could stay on this sandy coastline forever.

However, just as he was getting comfortable, his little rest was interrupted by a loud tone. He woke to see that the sun had died down, painting the coast with a red glow. Everyone was silent, their attention lying directly on the center of their little gathering. A large artificial map had materialized in mid-air, and a small marker pointed a certain location on it. As soon as it came to his attention, the map zoomed into the marked area quickly, close enough that only a few regions could still be seen. The marker appeared to indicate a specific city in one of the regions.

Another tone dinged, and the map disappeared. A small pamphlet materialized above him, and fell into his hands. The region on the map was illustrated on the front, with a few words painted above it.

 **TIBERIAS, ISRAEL**  
 **2016 AD**

Rider was the first to break the silence, laughing enthusiastically. "It seems I have been summoned to renew my conquests immediately!"

"I think it's more that the people have prayed for me, their great king, to return," Archer exclaimed, "it's only natural, after all! I wonder if we will have time to stop by the capital… I believe I have some interest to collect."

Caster's eyes watched the others with a faint delight, and Lancer could even see Assassin grinning to himself. Some of them would be working on familiar territory, he guessed. "It looks like we're the odd ones out, eh?" he said towards Saber and Berserker, who looked at him, perplexed.

"But see this," Rider said, pointing at the pamphlet that looked comical in his large hands, "the surrounding regions do not look stabilized in the least. Civil war, guerrilla attacks, ha… fine, then! If it is war they want, I will crush them and add them to my own army! It is only a question if I should first go north to home, or south… my Alexandria could be a valuable asset in the wars to come."

"You talk as if you have already won, conqueror king," Caster said, amused.

"Oh, but victory is close enough, is it not? If any of you wish to lay down your arms and join me in my conquests, I will happily accept you!"

"Sorry, friend, but I can't just abandon my people," Archer said, grinning. "I'm their king, you know. A great one, at that. I'm not going to lose to you."

Caster ignored him, and looked towards Rider. "Is that your wish, then? To incarnate into this new world?"

"Yes, that's right." Rider stroked his beard, and was a bit more hushed than usual. "I have unfinished business there. Is there something wrong with that?"

"It does seem like a lot of work to me; I'm fine with just relaxing after all of this is over." Archer had the pamphlet in hand, and was circling locations on the map with a pen he had somehow obtained. "My dear Abishag, do you think a new beachfront property would be suitable? Or would you care for something closer to the city?"

Caster rolled her eyes, though it was doubtful Archer had noticed. "Oh, that's sounds wonderful, my king."

"Fantastic!"

Rider got up, his excitement returned, and looked around the room. "What of the rest of you?" he asked, cheerfully, "would any of you care to share your wish for the Holy Grail?"

A wish, eh? Truth be told, Lancer had forgotten about that part of the bargain. What could an old man like him wish for anyway? It just seemed like a massive hassle.

Either the others agreed with him or had different misgivings, as nobody else seemed motivated to speak up.

"...freedom."

All eyes turned to the source of the voice, Berserker. He was crouched to the side, playing in the sand with a tiny stick. If he didn't know better, Lancer would have thought the voice had come from someone else.

"A fine wish if there ever was one; everyone has a desire to be free! Anyone else?"

"Prosperity for my people," Assassin said, from the corner of the gathering.

"Ooh, prosperity," Archer chimed in, "I like that."

"Freedom, prosperity, they are all fine wishes. Should I point out again that were you all to join under my banner, you would see all that and more!?"

Once again, the conversation continued, with Rider getting into more of his war strategies, Archer with his schemes, and Caster watching them both with a conniving smile. It was all quite funny, Lancer thought. This was more like a celebratory party than group of people about to kill one another. Imagine if all wars could be fought like this, with zero bad feelings on either side. That'd be a sight to see.

"So," Lancer asked in Saber's direction while the fun continued, "what's yours?"

Saber had been distracted by Rider and Archer, so it took him a while to register Lancer's question. "Oh, I apologize. What did you say?"

"Ah, no biggie. I was just asking about your wish."

"My wish? I do not have one."

"You don't have a wish? There's not a single thing you want?"

"Well, if there's one thing," Saber hesitated, doubt clouded on his expression, but it quickly faded, replaced with resoluteness. "I'd like to continue helping people, as a hero of justice."

Lancer wasn't sure what to say. Fighting for glory, he understood, as he had seen enough of it already. Fighting to protect those you care about was something he understood even better. But fighting to help people indiscriminately? It was a confusing concept to swallow.

"What about you?"

"Eh, I'm not so sure."

"Sorry. If you don't want to share it, then you don't have to."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," Lancer waved his hand, "I'm like you, I don't have a wish. This whole Grail thing is a bunch of nonsense if you ask me."

"Oh, I see." Saber stopped, thinking. Eventually, he continued, as if he had just come up with an idea. "Well, you could do the same as me."

"A hero of justice?" Lancer chuckled. "I'm not sure that suits me. I'm a warrior, not a hero."

Saber nodded, seemingly accepting that explanation.

The sun was almost out of sight, and the light was fading out. Evening was fading away into night, and the final conversations were dying down as everyone went off by themselves in preparation. It was only a matter of time before the final tone rang, and the war began.

None of the participants here would remember this little calm before the storm: not the small dialogues, nor the promises made. But even so, it still had its own importance, for it signified the common bond shared between each of them as Heroic Spirits. No matter the difference in their beliefs, no matter the ancient feuds that lay rooted in their past, and no matter the fact that they were destined to kill one another, this bond would still hold true.

Each one of them held a desire in their heart, regardless of whether they knew it themselves, and it was for this reason the call of the Grail was answered so.

The final tone.

One by one, they began to fade. Lancer watched Saber disappear before his eyes, then Rider, then Assassin. Before he knew it, he was the last one left, his only companion the soft sounds of the seashore.

Finally, his summonings came. A muffled voice called out to him, swearing upon heaven and hell to request his aid. Strange, he thought. It sounded almost like she was crying.

As the summoning reached its conclusion, a faded vision of his summoner began to emerge: a small child, painted in the moonlight. Blood stained the sands beneath her. She was surrounded by bodies.

"...a hero of justice, eh?"

The last wave hit the coast, and Hector of the Gleaming Helmet, prince of Troy and a hero of the Trojan War, answered the call.


End file.
